


juggernaut

by LadyMerlin



Series: RoyEd Month 2020 [1]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Day 2, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Pining, Post-Canon, Pre-Relationship, RoyEd Month 2020, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:47:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23837128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyMerlin/pseuds/LadyMerlin
Summary: “Fullmetal,” Roy greets with a nod, clearing Vizstain’s doubts - if there had been any - as to who this is. “What brings you to my office this late at night?”“Need your advice. If someone resists arrest, how many bones am I allowed to break? Couldn’t find it anywhere in the rule book.” Roy struggles to bite back his laughter, not least because he doesn’t think Ed would know what a rule book looked like if it got up and smacked him in the face. Which, admittedly, Roy has been tempted to do sometimes, though he can’t bring himself to be too upset about it now.Not when Vizstain actually looks like he’s going to piss himself.
Relationships: Edward Elric & Roy Mustang, Edward Elric/Roy Mustang
Series: RoyEd Month 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1716067
Comments: 33
Kudos: 429
Collections: RoyEd month





	juggernaut

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt for Day 2 of RoyEd Month 2020: Rigid

Roy feels his shoulders getting tighter as the day passes, tension running like a thick cord down the length of his spine, branching into his hips and sending painful spasms all the way down to his toes. He stretches his neck as subtly as he can, as if it’s going to do anything about the clutch in the back of his head; an omen of an oncoming migraine if he’s ever seen one. 

He consciously unclenches his jaw and flexes it, and then exhales deeply, pretending it’s not a sigh. 

It’s been a difficult day at the end of a difficult week, and it doesn’t look like the ordeal is going to end anytime soon. He’s been in back-to-back meetings with a series of belligerent soldiers, each one trying to justify their actions during the Promised Day, blustering about fear and self-defence and the greater good, as if they’ve ever been motivated by anything _other_ than self-interest in their miserable lives. 

He wants to be done, to tar them all with the same brush and call it a wash, but he can’t help hoping that maybe there’s someone - _anyone_ \- who might still be redeemed. A single person worth retaining in Roy’s new government, whom he could trust at his back. 

It’s the dying ember of optimism that hurts more than the disappointment, but he can’t help it. As much as he wants to go home, he can’t take the risk that he’ll let down an innocent, the way they’d been let down in Ishval, all those years ago. 

So he persists, interviewing general after general, colonels and majors and first and second and third lieutenants, hoping that even if he can’t find allies, he might find neutrals who can be spared from the reckoning that is to come. But Bradley had done his job thoroughly in eradicating Roy’s allies, ruining anyone who even thought of opposing Bradley himself. The task ahead is daunting and hope is scant, but it has to be done, and as quickly as possible. 

Even knowing this, Roy is _tired_ , and every time he closes his eyes he sees that _other_ place, the place Edward called the _Gate_. He knows without being told that the images behind his eyelids are not ordinary nightmares; that when he sees that thing - that terrifying white demon laughing at him, it’s not a memory but a vision of that place as it still exists. He doesn’t know if Ed sees it too, and he tries to keep his mind off it, because if it turns out that Ed _doesn’t_ see it, and Roy is the only one, he might lose what scraps of sanity he still has left. 

In short, the interviews aren't going well, and that definitely doesn't help with how he's feeling. He knows this won’t kill him, and neither will the building migraine, for all that it threatens to. He hasn’t come this far to be felled so easily, though he _has_ started hoping for something catastrophic to happen outside, like a(nother) building collapsing, so that he can make his excuses to go home and start again tomorrow. Hell, he’ll even take a small riot as a diversion so he can steal a quick nap in his old office. He’s perfectly capable of sleeping around rubble, or on top of it if necessary, like a very large cat. He’s just rational enough to recognise that his thoughts have slipped from pessimism to sheer nonsense, but not rational to do anything about it. 

Still, it feels a lot like someone is answering his prayers when the door to the conference room slams open with explosive force. It hits the wall behind it and rebounds before Ed catches it with his steel forearm and steps in, a master of subtle entrances. 

Ed grins at Roy like he’s baring his teeth, like he’s got a razor blade on his tongue and he’s not afraid to use it. This is of course, his usual smile, reserved for the people he knows well enough to call acquaintances. The colonel whom Roy is interviewing - Colonal Vizstain - gulps audibly, and Roy has to fight his own smile. 

Vizstain has been calm and apathetic throughout the interview, enough that Roy almost wanted to set the table on fire just to get a reaction out of him. Fullmetal though, is well known in Central (at least) for having punched a god in the face. He’s regarded with almost an unholy amount of awe and Roy would have worried for his own position, if he didn’t know how much Ed disdained it. 

He’s just waiting for the day someone asks Ed for an autograph, so he can take a picture of the look on his face, and hopefully prevent anyone from landing in a hospital. 

“Colonel Bastard,” Ed says, the address unusual only in that his tone is almost polite. Roy isn’t even a colonel anymore. 

“Fullmetal,” Roy greets with a nod, clearing Vizstain’s doubts - if there had been any - as to who this is. “What brings you to my office this late at night?” 

“Need your advice. If someone resists arrest, how many bones am I allowed to break? Couldn’t find it anywhere in the rule book.” Roy struggles to bite back his laughter, not least because he doesn’t think Ed would know what a rule book looked like if it got up and smacked him in the face. Which, admittedly, Roy has been tempted to do sometimes, though he can’t bring himself to be too upset about it now. Not when Vizstain actually looks like he’s going to piss himself. 

He heaves a put-upon sigh and turns to face Vizstain. “It might be best if we tabled this interview for the moment, Colonel. Edward, if you wouldn’t mind calling the MPs from outside.” They’re on loan from Gumman, and a godsend. Even if he can’t trust them entirely, he can trust that they’re loyal to Grumman, and Grumman has a vested interest in keeping Hawkeye (and by extension, Roy) alive. 

It only takes a few minutes for the MPs to handcuff Vizstain and lead him out of the room, but the tension in the room quickly doubles and then trebles. Roy is already drowning, but Ed’s gaze is something else entirely, so intense that it’s almost a tangible thing. He resists the urge to shrug off the imaginary touch and turns to look Ed in the eye. 

“You look like crap, Mustang.” Ed, who is as honest as he always is. 

Somehow, Roy is almost grateful for it. “Why, thank you Edward. That’s very kind of you to say.” 

Ed makes a noise which is somewhere in between a scoff and a snort, and throws himself into the chair that had just been vacated by Vizstain. “I can literally smell the slime in the air. What was he trying to do, get a plea bargain?” 

Roy doesn’t correct Ed’s assumption that the military allows pleas, or bargains, and instead sighs and leans back into his own seat, stretching his legs out and trying to relieve the ache in his knees. “Vizstain maintains that he is innocent of any wrongdoing. I regrettably - or perhaps fortunately - have proof to the contrary.” He doesn’t get any further before Ed makes another snort-scoff sound, his eyes alight with humour. 

“His name is _Whiz-_ stain? Jeez, even his parents musta hated him,” he says, his voice brimming with laughter. 

Roy sighs and doesn’t bother hiding his own smile. He’d done his own double-take the first time he’d been introduced to the man, years ago, though he wonders if he’d ever been as mirthful as Edward is now. “Yes, well, he’s a stain on this country’s reputation, so at least it’s a fitting name.” 

“Also his face could curdle milk,” Ed observes, apparently unaware that until he’d burst into the room, Roy had been doing his best to give Vizstain a second chance. 

“Am I doing the right thing?” Roy muses out loud, and then stops in his tracks. It’s not that he wasn’t aware of his own doubts, but he’s never voiced them in front of anyone other than Riza, before. And even then, only in their personal capacity, and never in their workplace. 

Ed doesn’t seem to notice that Roy’s put his foot in his mouth, and Roy can’t decide whether he should pretend it didn’t happen, or backtrack, to make it even more obvious that he hadn’t planned on asking Ed’s opinion. Ed just shrugs and drops his head back so that he’s staring at the ceiling. “Trying to give them a second chance is an honourable thing to do, I guess. I wouldn’t, but that’s because I’m not honourable, and I’m not trying to be. You want to be the Fuhrer so you need to do it, but not for them. You’re doing it for you. It’s like you’re giving yourself a chance to be better, better than you were before, and better than King Bradley ever was. D’you get what I mean?” 

It’s a more eloquent explanation for what Roy has been trying to do, than anything he could have come up with on his own. It’s so on-point, that Roy can’t even speak for a second, not even to respond to Ed verbally. He just nods and tries to think whether he believes that his motivations had been as altruistic as Ed portrays them to be, or whether they’d been much more selfish. 

If only he were more like Ed, to whom lying to himself would be anathema. 

“You look super constipated,” Ed says quietly, almost like he’s trying to break Roy out of his thoughts without making it obvious that’s what he’s doing. It’s almost nice of him.

“It’s been a long day,” Roy replies instead of taking the half-hearted bait. “I also hate this office, and I hate this chair.” 

“Backache?” Ed asks, honing in on the heart of the problem. 

Roy shakes his head slightly, then sighs. “Everything aches. Thanks for getting rid of Vizstain. It’s not a permanent solution but I really needed a break. I haven’t come across a single decent person today, and I was rather hoping you’d knock down a building somewhere so I have the excuse of ending the interviews and going home.” 

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you probably shouldn’t work so hard. You’re still recovering from the Gate. Maybe have fixed hours, or something, for interviews. You’re useless if you’re too tired to think straight.” 

Roy sighs again. “I can’t stand the thought of an innocent person in jail for any longer than they have to be.” 

“You won’t lose them, you know? Anyone who’s going to support you, or support a good leader, would understand that these things take time, if they’re going to be done properly. Also, I’m pretty sure you’re too close to the situation to see the whole of it. You’ve been interviewing the higher ups and they’re all scum-bags, and so you think the entire fucking complex is a wash. Hawkeye and Havoc and everyone else, we’ve been interviewing the staff. The conscripted kids and the kitchen staff and the secretary pool. Most of those people are pretty decent, Mustang. They were just caught up in a situation above their pay-grade, beyond their control, and they had no choice but to make the best of it.” 

This is the first Roy has heard of it, and he feels his heart begin to beat faster, though he’s not sure whether that’s because of the good news, or the caffeine that’s finally hitting his bloodstream, or because Ed has a look on his face that Roy has never seen directed at anyone other than Al (and maybe Sheska, when she found him new books); satisfied and proud and happy. 

“That’s... good. I’m glad.” He forces himself to look away, before he embarrasses himself. He really hopes Ed can’t read his facial expressions; it’s getting harder and harder these days to pretend that he feels nothing for Ed other than respect and friendship. He’s both dreading and anticipating the day Ed leaves town, because even though Roy will miss him like a limb (hah), at least he won’t worry about Ed feeling unsafe, or disgusted by him, when he inevitably gives himself away. He’s a pressure cooker; it’s only a question of time before he explodes with everything he wants to say. He’s a selfish person for wishing for more distance between them, just to make it easier on himself. 

“Anyway,” Ed says, standing up and brushing his hands down the front of his trousers, as if he’s drying his palms. “Have you eaten?” 

Roy hasn’t been hungry in days, and he shakes his head. Riza forced him to have a sandwich for breakfast but he’s been running on empty since then. “You?” 

“Nope,” Ed says, flashing a feral grin at him, and Roy is so absolutely _gone_ that even the threatening show of teeth looks beautiful. “I was waiting for you. You’re treating me to dinner.” 

“I am?” This is the first Roy has heard of it, unless someone else made the promise on his behalf, or he agreed to it before he had his first cup of coffee that morning. “Good thing I’ve got my wallet, then.” It’s a good thing he can’t think of anything he’d rather do, even sleep. 

“I want noodles, something hot and sour and spicy. It’s been pretty cold for Central, this week, and I’ve been craving noodles all day.” 

“Well, arguably hell did freeze over when you punched God in the face, so I’m not surprised. We can stop by a drug store to pick up some antacid.” 

Ed scoffs and crosses his arms, waiting impatiently for Roy to finish gathering his stuff. “I’m not such a loser that I need antacid for spicy noodles, bastard.” 

Roy nods affably and shrugs his coat on. “Good thing I was talking about myself, then. I wouldn’t dare presume that your stomach is made from anything less than stainless steel.”

“Damn straight, Mustang. You’ll probably need it, anyway. There’s something I want to talk to you about.” 

Worry niggles at him, deep in his belly. Nothing good has ever come from those words. “Oh?” he feigns nonchalance. “What about?” 

Ed flaps a hand at him as they walk out the door, and barely waits for Roy to lock it behind himself. “We’ll talk about it over dinner. Shall we do a takeaway? Al says it’s not a thing to be discussed in public, though I don’t particularly care myself.” 

“You wouldn’t,” Roy agrees, though the panic is beginning to froth and churn inside him. If Al says it shouldn’t be discussed in public, it probably really is a sensitive topic. Though what could it be? 

Ed clicks his tongue and tosses his head, and for a split second Roy is distracted by how unfairly pretty he is. He tries to keep it off his face, though he’s not sure he entirely succeeds. “Quit worrying, idiot. Do you trust me?” 

Roy honestly doesn’t know where this conversation is going, or how it’s going to end, but the question is a no-brainer. He nods. 

“Good,” Ed says, satisfied. “Then trust me in this. It’s nothing bad. We’ll take the noodles back to your place, yeah? Al’s adopted like four-hundred kittens. The apartment is a zoo.” 

“Four hundred?” Roy muses, and decides that he’s too tired to keep worrying. Ed hasn’t let him down for anything that counts in years. “That’s rather less than I’d have expected.” 

“Yeah, yeah smart-ass. See how much you like them when they’re always getting underfoot. I keep tripping over the furry fuckers in the morning because they just _love_ getting between my feet. I don’t even know how they get into my room when I lock the door every night.” 

“One would think that you’d be able to see them better, considering your relative proximity to the ground,” Roy teases gently, playing with fire. 

True to form, Ed explodes, and it’d be a miracle if they can’t hear him from the other side of the block, but Roy doesn’t care because he’s laughing too hard. He feels the tension seeping from his spine as he laughs, anxiety dissipating like it had never been there. Ed is right. Roy trusts him. Whatever he wants to talk about, it’ll be fine.

**Author's Note:**

> Having a really weird time with work. Not coping super well with the lockdown. It's been a super weird couple of weeks. I hope you guys are doing better than I am. Wish me luck, please, I think I really need it.


End file.
